


Mark of an Angel

by Dividedfromreality



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Human Crowley (Good Omens), Human-ish AU, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-22 08:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dividedfromreality/pseuds/Dividedfromreality
Summary: Crowely and Aziraphale were close before the fall, fallen angels are all reincarnated as humans once they fall, many of them are matched with the soulmate that they’d found in heaven, who would be human as well. Except for a very few that are matched with angels. (Discontinued)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I haven't written anything but essays in a while, but good omens got me all inspired. Also this story got real far away from my original premise so not sure what exactly happened there, but let me know if you think it's worth continuing or nah, thanks!

Anthony J. Crowley stared at the symbol on his forearm for a long moment. 1 in a million, that’s how rare a symbol was, but Anthony’s was even rarer, with the golden halo hanging above the clearly etched A, it was more of a one in a billion, he’d never met anybody else with one like it. 

He remembered the way his parents explained it to him, barely holding back tears as they said it, he didn’t understand then, not really. He only knew whatever it was upset his parents. Which is why he’d spent much of his teenage years trying to get rid of it, why the skin all around it was almost entirely scar tissue at this point, but the mark remained unaffected. 

No humans fully understood the mark. All they knew was that anyone that ever had one disappeared one day, it wasn’t a specific age or time, it was just like one moment they were there and the next they were gone. There were many stories of people who’d gone to extreme measures to prevent it, but not a single one that worked out. There was speculation on whether they had a similar meaning to the other marks, but those just seemed like the marks of soulmates, it always matched a human to another human and there’d never been one that didn’t end up madly in love with time. 

The special ones there was no real evidence what became of those people. There were stories about them being matched with angels, old legends likely made up by a parent who lost a child, that they’d found their match in heaven and were too happy there to ever return. 

Other’s left less lovely thoughts in the mind. Legends of demons that tortured them and forced them to do their bidding, possessed them and used them as a means to an end before discarding them once they’d worn out their usefulness, only to repeat the cycle once they were born again. These stories were the ones that Crowley didn’t want to believe but also seemed to have the most evidence behind them. 

Most of the ones with the mark were never found again, nine months before Anthony was born however a man with a mark who had gone missing from their small town decades ago turned up dead on his family's farm. The coroner found the cause of death to be a sword through the heart, but no evidence of the weapon nor the location of the murder was ever found.

Crowley felt chills run up his spine at the thought of it. The rumors of the family asking the coroner not to release many other disturbing facts of the case didn’t help either. There were too many different stories saying too many different things. 

Crowley had tried futilely to investigate, mostly to find out what the man's mark looked like. Most didn’t know, and the ones that did were either dead, or wouldn’t talk to him. Eventually he’d accepted that whatever would happen was going to happen. So from the age of eighteen onward he’d focused most of his time on living as much life as he could with whatever time he had to live it. 

If he was going to die young...or be kidnapped and tortured by a demon young, he was going to get a century of experience out of it at the very least. It didn’t mean he didn’t still agonize over it from time to time, although every birthday he had started to feel like he was living on borrowed time. Frankly he was getting a bit impatient, it was like waiting for a jump scare but it never ever came. 

That was until one night he was walking to his car after waking up hungover on the floor in a strangers house, and once he got outside realizing a strange town as well, when his wrist began to glow, at first he looked around for a flashlight until finally realizing that it was his mark. He stared at it for a long moment, squinting at it as though something was supposed to come popping out of it. He finally broke out of his trance and looked above him wondering if a UFO would take him now, then he glanced up and down the street, looking for anything suspicious, out of place. The only thing he found was a man who seemed to be struggling hopelessly with a stack of books.

Crowley, ever the gentleman, even in times such as these offered his assistance. “Do you need some help?” he questioned, catching three of the books that had fallen from his arms when he’d accidentally surprised the man.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear, I didn’t see you there. Thank you very much.” The man smiled politely, “That was a first edition kept in immaculate shape for 200 years, I’d hate to scuff it up the moment I get it out of the store! If you stack them back up here,” He motioned with his head to the books that already sat in his arms that he’d finally gotten into a semi-balanced place. “I should be fine to get them home safe.”

Crowley rose an eyebrow at him, instead of honoring the man’s request he grabbed a fourth book from the man's pile and added it to his own. “Or I could just walk you home.” He offered with his usual charming smirk that hid the utter terror he was feeling at the moment, part of him thought that perhaps if he stayed in the company of another human, at least for a little bit, perhaps he could postpone whatever it was to happen.

The man’s cheeks grew read, seeming to think it over for a moment before finally agreeing, “Well I suppose if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I just live right down this block, umm…”

“Anthony.” He answered, the unspoken question, beginning to reach a hand out to shake, but remembering that he was covering up a strange glowing symbol with the books and he felt his imminent doom might really ruin the moment. 

“Aziraphale.” The man replied, “It’s lovely to meet you. Are you a book lover as well?” He asked with a hint of hopefulness in his tone, which Crowley was actually feeling a bit bad for squashing.

“No, sorry to disappoint, I always lose too much time reading books.” He chuckled.

Aziraphale’s face became very serious and he stopped in his tracks to turn and face Crowley, surprising him to the point that he almost ran right into the man. “There is not a second that goes to waste spent on a story.” He shook his head sadly, continuing to walk, no march, back to his home. “I will loan you a book and I expect it returned to me by Sunday and I expect it to be read and I expect you to tell me what you liked about it. Follow me.” He ordered, getting a questioning look from Crowley, he didn’t really expect that reaction, but followed along anyway. 

Aziraphale struggled briefly to get the key out of his pocket and unlock the front door of the bookshop, balancing his books between his body and the closed door, depending on fast enough reflexes to catch them once the door opened. “You own a bookshop.” Crowley realized aloud. “Well I suppose that explains a lot, so is this some sort of sales pitch then? It seems like a lot of trouble to sell a single book.”

Aziraphale shook his head, as the door creaked open and his regained hold of his books, before walking backwards and pushing it the rest of the way open. “This has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the fact that I can tell nobody has given you a book that you would truly lov-” He was cut off by an out of place love seat that he didn’t remember leaving that close to the counter. Crowley dropped the books in his hands and grabbed Aziraphales arms to keep him from falling, to Aziraphale’s absolute horror. His eyes got huge and he made a sound that sounded absolutely inhuman as he watched them hit the ground. 

Crowley couldn’t help but feel he’d saved the wrong one, it seemed Aziraphale would have preferred a plummet from great heights for himself before he’d want to see his books fall. “Uh...sorry.”

After a brief moment of mourning Aziraphale came back to his senses, and sighed. “It’s alright, thank you. Let me just-” He stopped again, looking even more horrified than before. 

Crowley looked around for a serial killer that was sneaking up behind him when he realized he was still holding onto Aziraphale’s arms, and his mark was shining right into the man’s face. He quickly pulled back and instinctively reached to hide it with his hand, but he feared it was a bit too late for that, the damage had been done.

He was a walking time bomb, and there was no getting around that. Polite conversation seemed to die off whenever someone saw it, and that’s when it wasn’t shining in their face like a lightbulb. 

Aziraphale however, quickly composed himself and turned around towards the shelf behind him. “Um…” He grabbed the first book he saw, turned around and handed it to him. “Great read, uh, you don’t have to bring it back even, you can keep it.” He nodded, a smile on his face as he walked Crowley to the door, stepping right over his adored books from a moment ago that still sat on the floor. 

Before he knew it Crowley stood dumbfounded on the other side of a closed book shop holding a copy of...Pride and Prejudice?

His mouth opened and closed a few times, to say something, ask a question perhaps, his hand even raised up for a moment as if he were about to knock, before finally deciding to forget this whole thing and...see how close he can get to his car before he’s taken by the light...or dark?

-

Strangely Crowley wasn’t picked up by a UFO or an angel, or even a demon that night. As soon as he began to head in the direction of home the mark stopped glowing and it’s been a week since without any activity from the strange symbol that he was born with. He didn’t know for sure what had happened, but he was pretty sure he’d avoid going anywhere near that town ever again.

Part of his mind tried to celebrate, he’d beat the curse he was born with, he ran away and it worked. Another part of his mind however, the logical part, reminded him that nobody beat this curse, not in all of time and by hell did they try. 

-

Aziraphale slammed the door in the man’s face and locked it turning his back to it, in an attempt to pretend what just happened wasn’t real. He couldn’t, shouldn’t. It was him, he knew it was Crowley, how could he not have seen it sooner. Everything about him was the best friend he’d always known. It was too obvious.

He shook his head furiously, he couldn’t let it happen again. Not after...well he’d seen what had happened the last time Crowley came around. Clearly he wasn’t able to protect him, not really. 

The other angels had begun well, basically hunting the fallen angels, who at this point were just humans who knew nothing of heaven, or falling or wars. It seemed wrong to punish them for a sin of a past life, especially since this new life was meant to be their punishment. Instead the angels had been trying to find the fallen angels and kill the body and the soul.

He couldn’t let that happen to Crowley, but he had no idea how to keep him safe. If Crowley was with him he’d be in danger because the angels could find him, if he was alone he’d be in danger because if the angels did find him he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. 

Plus, after last time the angels wouldn’t be likely to let Aziraphale of all that easy either, and they’d be paying attention now.

Aziraphale could feel as the demon...human, got further away from him and eventually he couldn’t feel his presence at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter nobody asked for, Anathema is lovely, Crowley meets Gabriel, Gabriel is the worst as per usual.

Anthony began to drift off while listening to Anathema once again proclaim that she had indeed found a solution to all his problems. This time she was telling him she could surely get rid of the mark with one spritz from this bottle of liquid. When he asked what was in this mysterious liquid she fumbled a bit before finally landing on “Well, in layman's terms...acid, but it won’t kill you or anything I promise.” What ‘or anything’ meant to Anathema generally meant that he wasn’t likely to lose the whole arm. 

He’d gotten very used to humoring Anathema’s ‘solutions.’ She was one of the most intelligent people he knew, and most her ideas made quite a bit of sense. In the last few years however her attempts to fix his issue had become a bit more desperate and a bit less rational. Crowley had accepted a while ago that it wasn’t something that could be fixed, but he let Anathema try. He knew it would make her feel better, even though it often left him feeling much worse. Which is what he felt would be the result in this case.

“Anthony! Are you listening?” Anathema cut through his train of thought, looking at him with an exasperated expression.

“Sorry,” He began, outstretching his left arm toward her with the symbol on his forearm facing up, “Go on, let’s see this magic work.” He added giving her a reassuring smile, “But after we’re doing something fun. No more books or research or chemical compounds tonight alright?”

She let out a frustrated sigh, but nodded, grabbing his forearm carefully with one gloved hand, aiming the bottle carefully with her other hand. “Okay, it’s gonna sting a bit, so just-”

“Please, I’m begging you get on with- Aaaah, fuck!” He hissed, jumping from his seat as the acid hit his skin, biting down on his lip to keep a flurry of other curses he wanted to shout.

“You told me to get on with it!” Anathema accused, earning an incredulous look from her friend. “Oh, here.” She grabbed the bottle of water that she’d forgotten in the commotion.

He held his arm as far from his body as he could as if he could will it to stop being part of him and stop burning like a “Mother of- Ngk…” 

As Anathema poured the entire bottle of cool water over the wound, washing the acid off of his skin so at least it would stop causing more damage, his breathing began to calm a bit. “I’ve brought a bandage too.” She insisted, hurrying back over to where she sat to dig through her bag.

By the time she returned to Anthony’s side he was staring down at his burned flesh disdainfully, the mark still unchanged in perfect condition. She cringed, “Sorry.” She sighed, carefully placing a burn dressing over the affected portion of his arm and wrapping the area to keep it in place. 

He shook his head once she’d finished, waving his uninjured arm dismissively, “I wouldn’t have let you do it in the first place if I wasn’t prepared for it to go disastrously wrong.”

Somehow that sentiment did not seem to make Anathema feel much better about the whole situation. “Well, still up for doing something fun?” She asked with a forced smile, she was out of ideas for the day, and it only seemed fair to follow through with her promise.

“Absolutely.”

-

Crowley’s idea of a fun time was surprisingly tame for somebody who thought his life might end at any given moment. Although once in a while it might involve a wild party, of which he would generally be the center of attention. It would often involve just a bottle of wine and a picnic at sunset though with a friend. Sometimes alone if he was feeling particularly put out for the day. 

Today, however, he’d decided he wanted to drink, and he wanted to dance, and that’s exactly what they were going to do. So Anathema reluctantly followed to one of the sleaziest bars in town, but also one of the very few that had a dance floor.

Anthony wore what had to be the tightest pants that anyone owned, with a v-neck and a black blazer that disappeared around 11pm. (Something Anathema found somewhat of an anomaly as she hadn’t let him out of her sight and yet had no idea where said blazer disappeared to.) While Anathema wore a long flowing skirt with shades of blue and green blending together and a long sleeved dark shirt with a white collar sticking out of the top.

Anathema would spend most of her time sipping on the same drink and watching to make sure Anthony stayed out of trouble. Nobody often bothered her, and rarely bothered Anthony if she was standing near him, she gave off an extremely purposeful aura that said ‘back the fuck up’ at just about all times.

Anthony’s dancing wasn’t what most people, or really anybody, would call good, but he was almost always the most lively dancer in the room nonetheless. Right up until that is 1:14am, when somebody asked him if he was alright, a stranger, looking curiously at the strange glow coming from the wrap around his wrist. In an instant Anthony sobered up, not saying a word he made his way back towards the bar, pressing his hand into the dressing, despite the sting it caused to do so.

He grabbed Anathema’s shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that he almost lost that hand before she realized who it was that had grabbed her, facing away from her as he spoke. “I think I’m gonna head out alright.”

She gave him a suspicious look, “Uh, yeah alright, I’ll just pay and we can-”

He shook his head, finally looking back at her, and attempting a dismissive smile, that were it not for every other part of his body language she might have actually believed that there was nothing wrong, “That’s alright, I think I’ll walk, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow alright.”

She shook her head, “It’s fine, I’ll give you a ride, just wait a minute.” Quickly she waved down the bartender to close her tab. It had probably been a total of three minutes before she turned back around to leave, but her friend was nowhere to be found. “Anthony!” She tried to shout over the music, pushing through the patrons until she found the door, she looked up and down the street for him, and felt a moment of pure panic when she didn’t see him. “Anthony?” She repeated quietly to the street, empty except for a few people who stepped out for a smoke. 

-

Anthony stumbled down the alley, he’d managed to put some pretty good distance between himself and the bar before Anathema noticed his disappearance. Part of him felt a little bad about leaving her wondering, another part of him just needed to get out of there. This was going to drive him absolutely mad, he wondered if that’s actually what happened to everybody, they lost their minds trying to figure out what and when and where, and just self destructed. 

He pulled at the wrap around his arm roughly, “Fu- get off- son of a- ha!” He celebrated as he found some give in the wrap and yanked it off, sucking in a breath through his teeth as it scraped across the skin.

“What do you want?!” He hissed at the symbol, a seemingly benevolent presence, but he knew better. “Kill me, or torture me, I don’t care but just do it!” He shouted, almost certainly terrifying a man who sat outside on his balcony, enjoying the summer air, and wondering if that was directed at him, but either way deciding to slide back into his home quietly.

But the symbol just glowed back at him. This wasn’t the first time since the first night, it had kept happening, every few days, he hadn’t told anybody though, didn’t want to worry them, no real point in it was there. 

Anthony buried his face in his hands rubbing up and down, a poor attempt to keep tears at bay, “Fuck you!” He hissed at the universe or the devil, or god, whoever was playing this stupid game with his head, as he fell against the nearest wall and slid down the wall until he was on the ground. He began to sob involuntarily, pulling his knees up this his chest, and burying his face in his arms. 

“Rough night, sweetheart?” The strange voice cut him off mid sob, he slowly raised his head to see a man, staring down at him in a way that made Anthony curl further into himself. Everything about him said that he shouldn’t be here, he wore what had to be one of the most expensive suit he’d ever seen, it was gorgeous, well taken care of, and not a single scuff or wrinkle in the entire ensemble. His face was beautiful, and he had a blinding smile, and everything in Anthony’s bones told him that he should run for his life. 

“Rough life.” Anthony corrected despite himself, “Cursed you know.” He laughed half-heartedly, then suddenly his eyes fell onto the bottle of water in the man's hand.

“Thirsty?” The man asked, following his gaze, and suddenly yeah, Anthony was thirsty, and against his own will it seemed, he reached out to the bottle this weird guy he just met in an alley was holding out to him, but for some reason he ignored the part of his brain asking what the hell he was doing.

_ Thump.  _ Suddenly his brain seemed to start working again as he watched this beautiful man collapse to the ground, now laying in the dirt with his previously pristine suit. Anthony’s eyes shot up to the attacker, and found, “Book shop guy?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip!

Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, dropping the chunk of wood on the ground next to an unconscious Gabriel with a loud thud. “Book shop guy?” The voice dragged him away from his anxious thoughts about what Gabriel would do when he woke up, if he’d be able to guess who hit him over the head, or would he blame humans as he liked to do. 

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale shifted his gaze to the man who was still sitting on the ground, forgotten tears streaking down his face as he tried to puzzle together what exactly was going on here. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, and Aziraphale quickly tried to reassure him, stepping carefully around Gabriel he lowered himself almost to where Crowle- Anthony was sitting. “It’s alright.” He insisted, beginning to reach a hand towards him, but stopping when it seemed to only increase his fear response as he pushed his back hard against the wall in an attempt to get away. 

Aziraphale held his hands up in front of him to show he had no intent to hurt him. “Sorry dear, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He paused, glancing back at the incapacitated angel.  _ How do you explain to someone that somebody was trying to murder them with a bottle of water. “ _ He’s fine.”

He watched carefully as Anthony seemed to be putting pieces together in his mind, looking, to Aziraphale and then to Gabriel and then to the glowing mark on his arm. “It’s  _ you? _ ” It was a question, one he clearly didn’t have a single idea as to what the answer was. Anthony’s eyes were searching Aziraphales face for any kind of answer, but it seemed to only be adding to his confusion. 

“Um…” Aziraphale hesitating, glancing once again behind him, Gabriel wasn’t going to stay down for long, and he still needed to come up with a plan. He couldn’t take the demon- or human back to the bookshop, Gabriel knew about it, and it was likely to be his first stop, considering what happened the last time Crowley was on earth. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain right now, but trust me, and I do realize that’s a big ask, but I’m here to help and I need you to come with me…” Another look back, “Right now.”

Aziraphale stood upright again, reaching a hand towards Anthony, hoping that he could know, somehow, that he could be trusted. That Aziraphale would never hurt him, not in a million lifetimes. “Please, I’m not here to hurt you.” He added desperately at the torn expression staring back at him.

He watched some sort of resolve find it’s way into his eyes and Anthony reached up, warily, seeming to question every inch he moved towards Aziraphale. Until finally he gripped the Angel’s hand and, without hesitation, Aziraphale yanked his old friend up off the ground and began pulling him away from the alley as quickly as he could. 

In retrospect it probably would have been a better idea on Aziraphale’s part to be a little more hesitant. They were about thirty feet from the Bentley when he could hear the man’s breathing start to quicken, he glanced back to see his eyes darting around wildly, not slowing down in the slightest because at this point there was no way he was just gonna let Crowley get lost somewhere for Gabriel to track him down. Would he prefer trust, and not having to worry about Anthony being confused and terrified? Of course. However, he’d drag Anthony kicking and screaming if he had to, if it meant he’d be  _ safe _ , if it meant his  _ soul  _ would be  _ safe. _

The angel opened the passenger door and motioned for him to get in, which thankfully he did, even if a bit hesitantly.

Climbing in behind the wheel Aziraphale took a deep breath staring at the controls with despair. He could not regret holding onto this damn car for Crowley more if he tried, the only thing worse than Crowley driving like a maniac, was Aziraphale driving at all, he absolutely hated it. 

“She’s beautiful.” Anthony whispered, stroking the dashboard, seemingly, for the moment, entirely forgetting what a strange, confusing and possibly dangerous night this had been.

_ Definitely Crowley,  _ He thought, in his distracted state he tried to the car in gear and made mistake, of which he still was unsure, but it tore a horrendous noise from the front of the car, followed by a horrified sound from the passenger seat.

_ “What are you doing?”  _ Anthony hissed, looking like Aziraphale had just kicked a puppy in front of him. In a hasty attempt to correct his mistake he brought another awful sound from the car. This time though he’d been able to get it forward about three feet before the engine stalled out. “Why did you get a car like this if you weren’t gonna take care of her?” 

After another moment of trying and failing to get the car to start he turned to his passenger in a huff, “Would you like to drive?” He asked, with a sarcastic tone for a question that was all too serious.

“I’d be  _ honored.”  _ Anthony replied, but it sounded more like an insult than anything else and before Aziraphale could protest Anthony had reached across him opened the door, and began shoving the angel out.  _ “Switch!” _ He hissed, and after a moment of staring at him incredulously Aziraphale finally complied, and as he watched Crowley climb into the driver's seat he couldn’t deny that the demon, or whatever he was, back in the bentley was a beautiful sight. It felt right, like home, and then he began driving and suddenly it felt very very wrong.

-

Once he’d gotten behind the wheel, and taken another moment to appreciate what a lovely machine he was driving, reality began to set in again. He realized he was in a strange car, with a strange man, and had no idea where he was supposed to be going. The man had let him take over the wheel though so there was that.  _ Not often they let you drive yourself to your own murder, not unheard of, but what are the chances? _

“Uh, so…” He paused, glancing over to the book shop owner, who looked like he might be getting ill, “Where am I meant to be driving exactly?”

“East…?” Aziraphale began, then after thinking a moment longer with a bit more confidence. “Yes, uh, just keep heading east.” He insisted.

Anthony stole another glance over, finding the man biting his lip nervously and wringing his hands in his lap did not reassure him. “Right.” He cleared his throat, choosing to let the clear complete and utter lack of a real plan go for the moment. “So is there any chance you’d like to begin that explanation you mentioned earlier?” There were a lot of questions he had at this point, although one of the most pressing ones was for himself. When Aziraphale had asked him to trust him, when he’d begged him to trust him… It reminded him quite a bit of the feeling he had right before when that man had offered him a drink, except a million times stronger. With the drink he could still hear a bit of himself questioning the issue. When that bookshop owner said ‘please’ all protests in his mind had ceased. Even now he felt like he should be wary, he should be scared, but he wasn’t.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, he considered telling him everything right here and right now, but he couldn’t know how Crowle- Anthony would react. It seemed like it should be explained in a less volatile environment than driving too fast down dark roads. “I think, perhaps it might be something you’ll want to sit down for.”


End file.
